


Devotion and Desire

by Galadriel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Community: lotr_sesa, Cunnilingus, F/M, Interspecies, LotR SeSa 2015, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Submission, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of feasting, Merry shows the depth of his devotion to his Lady Eowyn's desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion and Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmoretteHD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Amorette! I hope you enjoy this story! Above all, I wanted to give you smut, and at least a little taste of the body worshipping and taboo elements you'd asked for; I hope I've managed to hit on those things in some small way. Merry/Eowyn is a really interesting pairing, and one I had a lot of fun exploring. Thank you so much for a great prompt!

It was simple work to slip under the table. After all, if there was one thing he had learned in his time in Meduseld, it was that most of the Big Folk paid little attention to a person as small as a hobbit. 

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then as he went to place it back on the table, he fumbled for a moment, letting it sink beneath the tablecloth. As he understood it, it was rare for the Rohirrim to trade in the finer trappings of napkins and cloth over their sturdy wood tables, but this evening was an exception. The Lady Eowyn had requested them, as a way to bolster the resolve of their bruised and battered forces. It was to be a show of strength and hope, to drive out the wisps of shadow that lurked in wounded hearts. 

Truly, it was meant to lift all their spirits.

And, as she had murmured saucily into his ear in the dark depths of the night, it would afford the exact right kind of cover that would allow Merry to lift her skirts.

And that, she said, was _exactly_ what she needed.

"Excuse me," Merry mumbled, sliding off his chair and under the hem of the tablecloth. He had been sat far below the salt, nothing more than an esquire at a table bursting with knights, but as this dinner was in the Lady's honour, he would not have to fumble to find her by legs alone. She sat at the head of the table, green gown falling in velvet waves to the floor, a beeline right down the middle, an easy line for Merry to crawl. 

He grabbed his errant napkin in hand. The biggest challenge was simply avoiding the other diner's legs; more courses had passed than Merry thought possible, and more wine drunk than he could safely swim in. Nobody would notice his absence, and as long as he stayed away from any kicking feet, he would not be discovered. 

Gaining the end of the table, he paused, sitting back on his haunches. He leaned into Eowyn, settling against her legs, and was rewarded with a delicate hand dipping down beneath the table, to stroke his hair. It took all his strength to muffle the soft purr of pleasure that threatened to slip past his lips. This had become their favourite game: he was exactly the right height to fit under her skirts, and there was nothing he liked more than tasting her on his tongue, pleasing her as much as it pleased him to serve. 

This was the first time they had tried something so daring in public, however. The closest they had come before was an alcove off a not-terribly well-trafficked hall, where the threat of discovery was thrilling, but about as likely as Shadowfax learning to fly.

He could hear his lady speaking above himself. She seemed deep in conversation with one of the Riders; something about his horse, his hooves... Truly, Merry could hardly determine the difference between _this_ conversation and any other. He had come to learn that the Rohirrim spoke of horses like other cultures talked of weather: long, ponderous discussions obsessed with minutia and uninteresting to anyone who did not love the smell of the stable. 

Yet even as she talked, Merry smiled to see her part her knees in open invitation. He shifted to face her, leaning up to press a kiss to her palm, sighing softly as she withdrew her hand, but not so sad to have the wealth of skirts in front of him to delve deep into.

He imagined he heard her sigh as he slipped his fingers under her hems, pushing them up just enough for him to slide under. They caressed his back as they fell behind him, making him shiver as he shifted closer. He ran his hands up the insides of her legs, pleased as punch to find she had foregone hose. Her skin was smooth under his fingertips, warm and soft and so responsive. He loved the way she shuddered ever so slightly when he ran his index finger over the delicate skin behind her knee. He adored how she could not help but shift when he kissed her kneecap and breathed over her inner thigh. He could linger there for hours, touching and tasting every inch of her, but there were other duties to attend to. 

He put a palm on the inside of each thigh, gently urging them wider, and bit his lip against a groan as he realized she had not bothered with smallclothes either. He leaned in close, taking his time to look closely at her fields and valleys. He loved the curve of her lips, the peeking tip of her bud, the downy collection of curls settled above. He laughed softly, silently, as he felt her hand drop to her lap, curling helplessly in the fabric. There was no doubt that she could feel his breath.

He rubbed his cheek against her thigh, kissed the join between thigh and body just above. His lady was patient, that was for sure, but this was not meant to be a waiting game. Still resting his cheek against her thigh, he reached out with the tip of one finger, and gently stroked up her slit, just once, just enough to test her wetness before licking his finger clean. 

He was surprised: he hardly heard any hitch in her voice, any pause in the flow of words. 

Bolder now, he slid that selfsame finger slowly into her, swallowing a whimper as he watched her body swallow what he was offering. She tightened around him, warm and wet and soft, and he could feel his breeches grow tighter, his cock pressed firmly against the seams. He leaned forward, lapping gently at her folds, slowly moving his finger in and out, shallow strokes to match the lightest of licks. 

The scent of her filled his nostrils: the top notes of clean soap and perfume, as delicate and feminine as any a bud; and underneath that, and growing stronger, the scent he loved the most: her own unique musk, dark and inviting. 

Sliding his finger out, he parted her folds with his thumbs, opening her up enough to give him exactly what he wished for. He flicked his tongue over her clit, smiling as her legs tensed around him. He stroked his thumbs up and down as he kept up with the little flicks, stopping from time to time to suck lightly, savouring the salty-sweet taste of her on his tongue. 

It wasn't long before he noticed a curious silence above him; Eowyn had grown surprisingly quiet, and yet conversation still flowed around her. Merry could hear her voice as she gave the occasional cursory answer, but for some strange reason, she had all but become mute. He could not imagine why.

Smiling to himself, Merry slid three fingers back into his lady. Wet as she was, he could tell she was growing impatient, and he was not so gauche as to leave a lady in need for too long. His tongue flicked and slipped over her folds, between her lips, lingering more often than not on her clit. He twisted his fingers, imitating a corkscrew, and was rewarded when her legs suddenly snapped shut, trapping his head where it was. 

The world above became muffled; there was little he could hear with Eowyn's thighs around his head, blocking his ears. But he was far less concerned with tracking conversation than licking Eowyn to completion, making her squirm and shiver with little more than fingers and tongue. 

He pressed his free hand to the front of his breeches, grinding the heel of his palm against his cock. It was a small indulgence, and one that would not go much further, as they both preferred if Merry did not come. 

A fourth finger slid easily alongside the first three, much to Merry's pleasure. When the night was at its darkest, before Merry had had to sneak back to his own rooms, they had spoken of how much Eowyn might wish to take, how easily Merry might offer more than he already had. That was an act for another time, however, as she was already shuddering and shifting around him.

Merry was grateful, oh so grateful, that she had found room for him in her heart. Such an act of trust, knowing that her fellow Rohirrim already found her strange. It was a privilege and an honour to protect this happiness they had found, lest her king, her brother or friends discover them and find their union unnatural. 

His tongue danced across her slit, up and down as his fingers continued their work. He let the tip slide into her alongside his fingers, an extra little tease before he turned his attention back to her clit. Her thighs clamped down more firmly, and a small, telltale gush of wetness was all the warning he needed before he felt her clench around his fingers, again and again, over and over, and felt her hand on the back of his head, pressing him tightly against her folds. 

Merry rode out the shocks, his tongue still flickering, coaxing out more earthquakes and aftershocks before Eowyn began to calm. He slowed his tongue to long, slow licks, avoiding the little bud, and reluctantly withdrew his fingers, stopping only to suck her juice off each one.

When her legs relaxed and Merry could hear once more, he was surprised that the volume of voices in the Hall had long since ebbed. The feast must be reaching its end; truly, Merry thought, and smiled to himself, he had eaten his fill.

It was then that he heard an unfamiliar voice ask the exact question he had been hoping would not cross anyone's mind: "Where _has_ the little hobbit gone?"

Merry pressed his face to Eowyn's thigh, muffling his own laughter. If only they knew. Of course, it was best that they did not.

"Perhaps he slipped away early," Eowyn supplied. "I cannot imagine he has a great deal of stamina, and our feasts are rather long."

"Yes. I suppose you're right." The voice sounded uncertain. "Are you sure you wish to be left alone, Lady? I would be happy to escort you to your chambers."

" _No_. No, no, that's not necessary. Please, feel free to retire. I would rather... Sometimes I prefer the quiet of an empty Hall."

Apparently that was enough for the unseen speaker. Footsteps faded into the distance, and for a long moment, Merry heard nothing at all. Yet that didn't stop him from stroking his fingertips up and down Eowyn's slit, enjoying the feel of her under his hands, loving the chance to touch and stroke for as long as he was allowed.

"Merry, my love?" Eowyn's voice drifted almost dreamily down to his ears.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Have you found that napkin of yours, yet?" Her skirts lifted, pushed out of the way. She smiled down at him, nestled as he was between her legs, an absentminded smile on his lips. "I think you might have a little something on your chin."

Merry grinned and wiped his mouth with the little bit of cloth. 

She looked him up and down, her gaze settling on his straining breeches. Her eyes were wide, and full of mischief and desire. "You know, I am feeling a bit peckish. Perhaps I could use a little company after all."


End file.
